Bow ties and Wythenshawe are cool.
What's not cool about Wythenshawe is BT Openreach being neither Open nor Reachable, and delaying my broadband connection by weeks. It's a long and convoluted story, so there now follows a short gap in which to boo and hiss BT Openreach.
Oh no it isn't.
Thank you. My favourite part of the whole process was being told by BT that they couldn't correct BT Openreach, whose downright mistake was holding up the broadband forever. Kafka was ahead of his time. I reported Openreach to Ofcom, whose website declares that they actually have no power to do anything directly, but would add my complaint to the weight of discontent and maybe do something a few stations down the line.
But Wythenshawe isn't responsible for BT, and Wythenshawe is cool. One of my favourite bits so far is getting lost in a new parish. This is something I'm spectacularly good at, because my sense of direction and spatial awareness and (let's face it) all-round co-ordination would make The Big Bang look like the Harlem Globetrotters. So I go out on my bike, get very lost, and find my way home in the end. And in doing so I find more places. Places that I might overlook otherwise.
Today, for instance, I found HMP Styal, a women's and young offenders' institute. Better still, I discovered The Clink, the restaurant next door. It's a brilliant converted church that employs inmates and teaches catering skills, and reduces the rate of recidivism dramatically. So I stopped for a cup of tea.
On the outside...
And loved it. There's art in there, there's light and spaciousness, and I had two magnificent conversations. One was with a family celebrating an advanced birthday with afternoon tea (they gave me a lemon meringue and I discovered that their uncle had been verger at my friend's church). And one was a young woman turning her life round after disaster had struck and events had led her to some time in HMP Styal. No names, but she'd been to Sunday School, been re-inspired by the chaplaincy at Styal and had plans to keep the faith on her release. She said it'd be fine for me to bring all the South Manchester clergy to the restaurant for tea and told me what the Message were up to on Wythenshawe.
Yay. And all because I set out to find the Manchester Orbital Cycleway and got lost instead. Good exchange.
In the Clink.
And from there I found Wilmslow, and some fine charity shops and a riverside cycle and brilliant wedding presents for my friends who are to tie the nuptial knot this summer.
And then I came home, via all sorts of places I didn't know existed but do now and hope to revisit at length and leisure soon. Ideally involving tea.
I've always likened the Bible - and getting your bearings in it - to this process of finding your way in a new town. The Bible is entirely daunting, and if you open it at the wrong (discuss) page you will find a list of names, sexual assault or some curious pre-Jesus rules that God has now dispensed with. When what you really wanted was a word of encouragement.
Me, often, finding it hard going but well worth the effort.
Well. You're never far away. You're close.
So far, Wythenshawe-wise, I've found two Asdas, the best charity shops, the swimming pool (voyeurism is forbidden, and here it's deemed necessary to remind people of that), the library (for wifi while BT Openreach sit on their thumbs and twiddle them), the pub with two meals for £8.49, and the bakery that made my welcome cake. There's more to come: principally a doctor and a dentist and schools and funeral directors. And there is stuff to be done behind the doors of Manchester College (after Easter) and Village 135 (once it's built), both of which I know the locations of.
In the Bible, you find the big stuff first too. The Gospels, hidden away near the end. Psalm 23 and then other Sunday School favourites: Noah's ark and Daniel in the doghouse and the Ten (now defunct) Commandments and the Road to Damascus and the woman on the beast.
But give me six months in Wythenshawe and I'll winkle out much much more: favourite little cafes and places to watch aeroplanes and the best pub and all sorts.
And if you give yourself six months in the Bible, reading a bit more regularly, you too will find yourself getting your bearings and discovering hidden gems and little treasures, places to go when you need a leg up or a heartwarming. You'll discover the armour of God and the God who sings over you and the Jesus who weeps and the breaking down of barriers of race and class. You'll discover beautiful psalms that seem to be written especially for you. You'll find help and challenge and wisdom and comfort.
I'm going to persevere in Wythenshawe. I'm going to keep getting lost and getting found and I'm going to be amazed and surprised and blessed all the time on the way. Get into your Bible the same way, and you'll be bemused on occasion, but you'll find the stuff that warms the cockles of your heart too, and you'll be especially pleased because you found it yourself by getting lost.
Don't worry if you don't understand what you read all the time. I don't. I still get flashes of epiphanic intensity (that is, I learn new stuff) but sometimes I sit and wonder, "what the heck was that and why was Paul so wordy?"
Let's take a hint from Chet Baker, and Let's Get Lost...
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